


After All This Time

by koiisbatman



Category: Psych
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koiisbatman/pseuds/koiisbatman
Summary: Carlton's waited far too long to hear the words tattooed onto his ribs. Of course, his soulmate would be the one who would wait until he'd given up on the whole soulmate thing to finally show up. That's just typical of Shawn Spencer.





	After All This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh ... Here's another one! This fic is so short (especially compared to my others), but when I saw the severe lack of soulmate fics for Shawn and Lassie, I knew I had to rectify that! I'm planning on working on some more soulmate fics, but for now, this one is done! Enjoy!

It’s just before his ninth birthday when the words finally appear. He’d been so excited that they had  _ finally _ appeared, he’d rushed to his mother to show her.

“Oh Booker …” She said, relief flooding her face. She knew just how much it had meant to him. As soon as she had explained why some people had words written on them--how there was someone special out there just for them--she had watched how he’d become obsessed with it. He would ask nonstop when he was getting his words. Years passed and she began to think he’d never get them. She hated seeing the disappointed look he had every time he’d come out of the bathroom after a shower, no doubt spending most of his bathroom time searching for words that weren’t there.

She kissed his forehead, sharing in his happiness. “It looks like your soulmate just wanted to take a little longer to get ready, hm?”

Carlton Lassiter smiled happily. He’d read, once he became obsessed with trying to find out why he didn’t have his soulmate’s words on his body yet, that the older of the pairs would be blank until their soulmate was born. It wasn’t uncommon to have such a large age gap, but it seemed as though most pairs were around the same age. Running up to his room once again, he dug out his calendar to find the correct day before writing:  _ Soulmate’s Birthday! _ Smiling to himself and making a mental note to celebrate every year, he moved back to the mirror to read the backwards writing, wondering just what would happen for him to hear his soulmate’s first words to him.

There, right on his ribs, in messy handwriting were the words:  _ I’m a psychic; I can help! _   
  


**29 Years Later …**

Soulmates were a load of crap. Sure, in his youth, Carlton was obsessed with finding his psychic soulmate, even if psychics were a load of crap as well; but now he was older and wiser. He’d long since given up trying to wait for his ‘perfect person’. Hell, he thought he’d found his perfect person in Victoria, words be damned.

Her first words to him had been asking to borrow a pen while they were in college. He’d already started to give up on the whole soulmate idea by then. There was too big of an age gap and he doubted he’d ever run into the person who would supposedly ‘complete’ him. He felt complete as it was. So, when Victoria asked him out on a date later that afternoon, he’d decided to hell with waiting around. He was going to take his love life in his own hands.

For a while, it was perfect. Victoria had been sick of trying to find her own soulmate. Something that was, he assumed, the curse of having a simple phrase like “ _ I’m so sorry _ ” written on their body. She had decided much earlier than him that she wanted to  _ choose _ who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, not leave it up to cosmic forces. They eventually fell in love and got married, quietly making fun of those couples who said they ran into their soulmates and immediately fell in love with their ‘perfect’ stranger. It was all too romance movie for Carlton. What he and Victoria shared …  _ That _ was true love. Something that needed work and nurturing.

Until he came home one day to Victoria packing her bags.

“I found him, Carlton.”

“Found  _ who _ ? What are you doing?”

“I found  _ him _ . My soulmate,” She paused in her mission to empty the drawers in their home. “I was walking downtown and he ran into me. Spilled drink all over me. He said ‘I’m so sorry’ and I said ‘Watch where you’re going, you asshat!’ and … I just  _ knew _ .” Victoria paused, looking up to Carlton. Looking up to the man who gave her everything. The man she was leaving. “You don’t know, Carlton. Meeting him is like … It’s …  _ God _ . We were so wrong to make fun of those people. It’s like I’ve known him my whole life. Everything about him is just  _ right _ .”

“You can’t be serious …” He said, voice cracking.

“I wish I was,” Victoria said, finishing with her suitcase before picking it up. She moved past him, towards the front door. Pausing a moment, she couldn’t bear to look at him as she spoke again, “I’ll come for the rest of my things … And … I’ll be bringing divorce papers.”

“Victoria …” Carlton managed to get out, tears falling freely now as his world crumbled around him. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Carlton … I have to go. I can’t stay … You just … You’re not  _ him _ ,” She said, as if that had somehow explained everything. “I sincerely hope you get to find your person one day so you’ll know.”

Then she’d left him. She’d come back to the house one day while he was at work to clear her things out and left the divorce papers on the table, along with her keys. That had been two years ago and it still stung as if it had happened yesterday. He’d taken so long to sign the divorce papers that she finally had come to him, begging him to just sign them already. The look on her face that day had made his heart clench and he’d signed the papers. Once they had been signed, she smiled at him through teary eyes and kissed his cheek. She’d whispered one last ‘thank you’ and Carlton was struck by how grateful she sounded with those two words.

After that, he’d given up. He refused to date anyone for fear that they would simply up and leave him as Victoria had. The loneliness was almost crushing, but it was better than falling in love and being burned all over again.

And so, Carlton Lassiter threw himself into his work. He’d jumped from junior detective to head detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department rather quickly and was on the fast track to being chief of his own station. Even though he’d given up on finding his match, he found himself, the past two years, pouring himself a glass of scotch on March 24th in a silent happy birthday to his soulmate. Somehow, the simple gesture made him feel a little less lonely on those days.

This day, however, was one of the more low points in his life. The past week had beaten him down, literally and figuratively. One perp they had brought in had gotten a hand loose in his Crown Vic as he was taking them back to the station. Once he’d opened the door, the perp had punched him square in the mouth, splitting his lip and leaving behind rather nasty bruising. His mountain of paperwork had gotten high enough that it was distracting. The informant they’d been using for one of their biggest cases got picked up selling drugs (unrelated to the case he was supposed to be informing on). He hadn’t been sleeping well, either. There was a buzzing under his skin, as if something was about to happen, keeping him on high alert (and a little paranoid) at all times.

To top it off, he’d spilled his coffee all over his shirt this morning.

That was how Carlton found himself at a murder scene, frustrated and shirt stained, trying to take notes and piece everything together. His new partner, Juliet O’Hara, was working on trying to get information from witnesses. She was quick and played things by the book; Carlton thought of her as a little sister to watch over.

As he saw people start to crowd near barriers, he sighed in annoyance. This is one of the things he hated about having a case in a public street. Trying to continue his work, he barked out an order for the other officers to get a handle on the crowd situation. He felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to get his attention and turn him around. Carlton was about to chew the uniform out who decided to bother him, but the words died on his lips as he saw a younger man, most definitely not sporting a police uniform, looking at him.

“I’m a psychic; I can help!”

The words cut Carlton deeply. The whole world stopped and he found himself staring at the male who is clearly trying to look past him to get a better view of the crime scene.

“It’s just -- That’s a friend of a friend. I could really help! Just let me get in there, y’know … Feel around for some bad juju …”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Carlton said as his brain caught up with the situation.

The guy doesn’t seem thrown off at all; definitely not like he just found his soulmate. “Not kidding. Look, I can sit here and waste time proving it, or I can go over there, spend five minutes looking at the scene and figure it out. I’ve called in dozens of tips to the SBPD! Look it up! Shawn. Spencer. I’m totally legit! And-- Hey!”

Carlton had had enough. He was fighting every natural urge to wrap his arms around the guy-- _ Shawn _ \--in a hug and utter a ‘ _ finally _ ’. He wanted so badly to just say to hell with police procedures and let him through. He was mentally fighting with himself, telling himself that someone was playing one fucked up kind of joke. This guy can’t be his soulmate. That one person who was supposed to be perfect for him …

And yet, he just  _ knew _ . He understood what Victoria had said when she said he’d just know. He could understand why she’d want to leave him. He wanted to take Shawn home and never let him leave again; wanted to spend blissful nights and sleepy mornings with the guy claiming to be a psychic. He wanted to give Shawn the world and then some.

Of course, the guy had yet to show any sort of recognition of what had just happened. Did people start out with ‘you gotta be fucking kidding me’ to him a lot? Seemed like something that would happen. Carlton dragged Shawn away from the crime scene by the back of his shirt, plopping him on the other side of the police tape. 

“This is a crime scene. We don’t need fake psychics here. Get the hell out of here.”

“But Lassie!” The guy whined and Carlton stiffened. How the hell had he known his name? Carlton hadn’t told him. Okay, it might not have been his actual name but it was enough of a nickname that he knew Shawn must know his actual name. “Seriously, I just wanna help. Her name is Donna McAlister … She was a friend of a friend. Five minutes. It’s all I need to solve it.”

“I told you: we don’t need fake psychics here,” Carlton reiterated before turning his back to the male, intending on returning to his work, hoping to forget what had just happened. Instead, he felt Shawn watching him for a long while before the feeling suddenly stopped. Looking around, he felt …  _ Empty _ when he couldn’t find Shawn in the crowd.

By the time the scene had been processed and he had finally returned to his car, he couldn’t stop thinking about him. His hair. His eyes. That bit of scruff on his face. Carlton hadn’t really envisioned his soulmate being a guy, but it wasn’t like he was having a gay crisis or anything. He was well aware of his pansexuality and completely comfortable with it. 

“Shawn Spencer …” He mumbled to himself.

The fake psychic had insisted he looked him up to verify his credibility. Well … Who was he to turn down a request like that? Especially one that gave him permission to use all his resources his work provided. Suddenly, he was both excited and nervous to get back to the station.

It wasn’t until it was already dark out and Juliet wished him a good night that Carlton realized just how long he’d been sitting at his desk, reading over the material in front of him. He’d pulled up everything he could find on Shawn Spencer and … Somehow it was as if the guy got more perfect. Shawn hadn’t been lying, he’d called in dozens of tips that had led to the direct arrest of the criminal in each case. His police record was only marred by an arrest when he was eighteen for reckless driving without a license. 

Finally, Carlton tore himself away from the information presented to him, deciding he needed to go home. He had to wrap up today’s case (without psychic intervention, thank you very much) and needed plenty of sleep to do it. 

The whole soulmate thing could wait.

For the first time in roughly a week, Carlton had gotten the sleep that he’d been craving. It had been filled with the same dreams he used to have, before Victoria, of what living with his soulmate would be like, only this time he had a face to put to the figure. It was as if all the bad of the week had disappeared. 

Getting to his desk, Carlton’s good mood bubble popped as he saw a coffee cup sitting perfectly in the center; a bright green bow sitting on top. “Who left this?” He asked, looking to the nearby officers, who all shook their heads. Clearly this had to be poisoned or some kind of trap … Eyeing it closer, he could see it was still steaming hot, so the culprit couldn’t have left it too long ago. Moving the sleeve, he froze as he saw a drawing of a heart and phone number on the cup that had been hidden.

“... what the …” He murmured, looking it over. He knew this number.  _ He knew this number. _

Looking through the stacks of paper he’d left buried on his desk, he finally located the most recent paperwork for one of the tips that Shawn had called in. There, on top in the ‘contact information’, was the phone number matching the one on his cup. Carlton looked around quickly, trying to see if he saw Shawn hiding around anywhere. When he didn’t, he dialed the number on the cup.

“Lassie!” Came the cheerful greeting. “You got my note!”

“First, how the hell do you know my name? Secondly, what the hell is this, Spencer?”

The fake psychic on the other end tisked into the phone. “Lassieeee. I told you! Psychic. To answer your question, it was a gift. Y’know … People usually do that for other people. I thought we might have gotten off on the wrong foot and I wanted to try and fix it.”

“Right …” He said, staring at the cup.

“You know, if you stare at it long enough, you might burn a hole in the side and then your desk’ll be covered in coffee that has way too much sugar in it.” At that, Lassiter immediately began to look around. Where the hell was he?? How could he see him? The movement was something that apparently Shawn thought was hilarious as he started to laugh on the phone. “Don’t worry, Lass. I’m not stalking you or anything. I’m watching with my third eye.”

“Like hell you are,” He grumbled.

“You’ll believe me one day. By the way … Your murderer? It’s Jamie Roolan. He and Donna have some history. They used to date. He was abusive. She left. He cornered her the other day and insisted she was his soulmate. When she tried to get away … He murdered her.”

Carlton paused, quickly grabbing a notepad to write down everything Shawn had said. “And just how do you know all this?”

“Psychic, Lassie. Keep up.”

“Psychics aren’t real,” He growled into the phone. After a moment of silence, he looked at his phone to see if the call was still connected.

A soft laugh finally alerted him that Shawn was still there, “Wow … That was uh … Pretty hot.”

Carlton could feel the tips of his ears burning, embarrassed and at the same time,unable to stop preening at the compliment. He hung up without so much as a goodbye. He couldn’t handle information like that; knowing that apparently he’d gotten Shawn hot and bothered. He just … Wouldn’t think about it. Wouldn’t think about the fake psychic and all the things he wanted to do with him and  _ to _ him.

That was how Carlton found himself running on autopilot the next week. He fully threw himself into the murder case and any other small case that came across his desk. It was almost normal, except the nagging voice that he was missing something. He knew it wasn’t a some _ thing _ so much as it was a some _ one _ . He hadn’t seen or heard from Shawn since the phone call. No little presents or anything, either. In the end, he’d been right about the murder and there was now a nice check waiting for Shawn Spencer in payment for his tip to the police. He figured he’d see Shawn whenever he came to pick up the tip money.

When another week passed without word from Shawn, Carlton felt unmoored. His fingers danced over Shawn’s contact information in his cell phone but he could never bring himself to press ‘call’.

A second week passed and Carlton found himself standing outside of Shawn’s address, as listed on his contact information. He’d brought the check that had been waiting for two weeks as some sort of reason to visit. Knocking on the door, it took a few moments before Shawn opened the door, a somewhat surprised look on his face before he smiled.

_ That smile _ . It was as though that smile was the sun, breaking through the dark clouds that had hovered all this time that he’d been apart from Shawn.

“Lassie! To what do I owe the honor?”

“You … Never came to pick up your check,” He said, holding out the envelope dumbly. 

Carlton watched as the smile on Shawn’s face faltered for a moment before it returned. “Oh … Thanks! I must have totally forgot about it.” He paused, “Was that it …?”

“Yes … I just wanted to drop that off …”

Shawn watched him for a moment before nodding. “Then … I’ll see you later, Detective Lassiter.”

And  _ that _ . That was all wrong. That cold, unfeeling address. He hadn’t known Shawn long; honestly, he’d only had two conversations with him, but he knew he wasn’t ‘Detective Lassiter’ to Shawn. No; he was  _ Lassie _ . He one day hoped he would hear Shawn call him  _ Carlton _ .

As the door began to close, the head detective shoved his foot in the door to stop it. “I -- That’s not it.”

Shawn’s brow rose in response, opening the door back up. “Yeah? I mean, if you’re just gonna tell me I’m a fake, I have a check that you hand delivered that says otherwise …”

“No, that’s not it. I mean … Yes, you’re a fake, but that’s not what I wanted to say.”

“Okay?”

“Would you … Like to get dinner? With me? As … A date?”

Shawn was quiet for so long that Carlton began to worry he did something wrong. He knew he was rusty at this but … Shawn broke out into laughter, catching the head detective off guard. “Are you serious?” He asked through his laughter.

Carlton was … A little offended. “What? Of course I’m serious!”

“Woah … Calm down there, Clint Eastwood,” He said, wiping the tears from the corner of his eyes where he’d started crying from his laughter. “It’s just … I thought you hated me. Actually … Despised was more like it. I’d always had a suspicion that you might hate me considering what  _ your _ first words to me were supposed to be, but I’d never heard of a situation where soulmates hated each other, so I thought that was impossible … ‘til I met you. I figured it was just going to be easier to leave when I did than try and get closer to you. I’m better at leaving than staying.”

The head detective sighed in frustration, “You … Caught me at a bad time. That week was awful and then here comes this asshole who  _ finally _ shows up after twenty nine years, telling me he’s a psychic.”

“Sorry … I’ve never been punctual,” Shawn said, lip quirked up in a smirk.

“Trust me, I’m well aware. You’re nine years younger than me.”

Shawn gave a small whistle. “Sorry … I bet that was driving you crazy … I mean, it’s not like I really had any say in when I ... y’know … Came into his world or whatever but …”

“I know …” Carlton paused. “You’ve had ‘you gotta be fucking kidding me’ written on you since you were born?”

This earned him another laugh and Carlton found himself wanting more of that sound in his life. He wanted Shawn smiling and laughing around him for whatever time he had left in life. “Oh yeah … ‘Fucking’ was my first curse word. At least I get to tell my parents that you don’t, in fact, hate me and just what my first words to you were.”

Carlton gave the smallest of smiles, ducking his head down. Yeah, it would be a great story down the line. He could already imagine himself telling his future children just how their dads met.

“So … That date?” Shawn said, breaking the silence again, “Yeah, I’m totally down. We can talk about all the fun stuff you can’t read from a police record.”

“You knew I looked?”

Smirking, he held his hand up to his head, “I’m a psychic.”


End file.
